Animal Purpose. Michelle Y. Burke

Thanks to Brian Brodeur, Heather Hamilton, S. Whitney Holmes, Dave Nielson, Natalie Shapero, and Maureen Traverse for their criticism and kindness. Thanks to Thomas Lux for selecting this book for the Hollis Summers Poetry Prize. Thanks to David Sanders and everyone at Ohio University Press. Thanks to Charles Chessler for the use of his photograph. Thanks to my family for their support. Lastly, thanks to Douglas Watson, whose unwavering belief sustains me. Thank you.

       for Doug

      My Dear One is mine as mirrors are lonely, As the poor and sad are real to the good king, And the high green hill sits always by the sea.

      —W. H. Auden

       Contents

       One

       Today the Horse

       Not by Extraordinary Means

       First Engagement

       Dear One

       Flight Path

       A Life

       Horses in Brooklyn

       Pacifisms

       Two

       On the Prospect of Heaven

       Inchworm

       Sweet Girl

       Saints and Martyrs

       Lives of the Artists

       Home Economics

       Flood Zone

       Here

       Three

       Homing

       Four

       Puff

       Dante Park

       Narcissus

       Ghost Horse

       This Neighborhood

       Driving Alone

       Upon Giving My Grandmother’s Chair to My Brother

       Trick of the Light

       Zalar’s Carousel Horses

       Five

       Market Day

       Nocturne

       Last Light

       Diameter

       Intensity as Violist

       Farmer’s Daughter

       Wishing Stones

       Notes

       One

       Today the Horse

      broke from my grip as I led

      him from barn to arena. This had

      never happened before. I stood

      dumbfounded as he galumphed

      across the meadow, saddled and bridled,

      ducking his head to tear mouthfuls

      of spring grass from the field—

      the temptation of it all too much

      for him. He stepped on his reins,

      and I thought, Either the reins will break

      or he’ll slice his tongue. I watched

      as the reins fell in two soft pieces.

      I’d stayed out too late drinking

      the night before, and I was unprepared

      for the sudden rear and heave

      of all that horse muscle. At the bar,

      I’d been caught up in the gentle

      attentiveness with which a friend

      brought his ex-wife her ginger ale

      and made sure she was happy, holding

      the door as she left and asking

      if she wanted him to walk her to her car.

      At one point, she’d told me

      she’d always regretted not going

      to medical school. It was what her parents

      had wanted, and perhaps the world needed

      more doctors who cared about people.

      The exes moved around each other

      with the quiet assurance of those

      who have shared close quarters.

      If I could have, I would have wished

      that fleeting